


Mana-Shock

by Karalora



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Demons, Fainting, Fantasy AU, Gen, Heroic Self-Sacrifice, Magical Exhaustion, Mana Transfer, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karalora/pseuds/Karalora
Summary: Virgil overdoes it while fighting a demon. Like, WAY overdoes it. (Everyone on Tumblr was craving Virgil + Magical!Exhaustion so I had to oblige.)
Relationships: LAMP/CALM (platonic)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 125





	Mana-Shock

At last, it was almost over. That much was definite. But it still remained to be seen which way it would end.

Dark energy rippled across the battlefield in waves, each one striking the demon with nigh-cataclysmic force. It was a wonder, Roman thought, that Virgil was still holding himself upright, even with Patton bolstering him. Humans weren't _meant_ to channel that much energy of any type at once, let alone Dark energy...but then again, Virgil wasn't entirely human, was he? Roman couldn't remember how far back the demon ancestor was—five or six generations, something like that, it didn't really _matter_ , he was human _enough_ , he had a soul, they'd proven it—but Virgil was certainly drawing on every scrap of that heritage, turning the demon's own power back on it. It was Logan who had figured out the key to defeating it, and Roman who had chiseled way at its physical form until it was vulnerable to sorcery, but only Virgil could properly handle the energy infusing its lair, having soaked in just from the dread being's presence over a period of time.

Virgil was _hammering_ the demon with its own leftover energy...and it was costing him. Oh, was it costing him. They had known it would, that a demon this size would never go down easy, even if they had discovered how to destroy it, but Virgil hadn't hesitated to volunteer. It had to be done, so he would do it.

Roman was starting to think he had never grasped the true meaning of _courage_ until now. It was easy to be “brave” when you had inherited the Sovereign Sword (against which no evil can stand!) and an Achilles Amulet—when your own survival was all but assured and your personal victory was more than likely. Virgil was stepping up even in the absence of such guarantees, and Roman felt a little ashamed to have considered _himself_ a hero by comparison.

The demon roared—an oddly metallic sound—and flinched back a few paces. Virgil continued to press the attack. Shorn of its physical form, the demon was incapable of striking back as long as Virgil's assault continued, which meant the entire venture hung upon his stamina. If he held out long enough to destroy the demon, they would win. If not, it would recover and they would fail. And probably all die. So far, so good...but then it happened.

Patton's spell—the twin gold-white auras as he funneled his own spare mana to Virgil, to help him keep going under the onslaught of the tremendous power he was manipulating—flickered and went out. Patton staggered against a tree, panting, his face ghostly white and slick with sweat. “I—I'm spent!” he gasped. “No more left!”

Now Virgil was on his own, energy-wise. So he planted his feet ever more firmly and, with a faint growl, _doubled_ his channeling rate.

The entire space of the forest glade seemed to warp and twist as the Dark energy was sucked from the environment and beamed back at its original source. The demon let out a wheedling whine; Virgil answered with a wordless roar. And Roman felt like a moron for thinking the young sorcerer had been tapping fully into his demonic heritage before, because _now_ his teeth were lengthening and sharpening before all of their eyes, and his fingers were extending into claws, and there was a faint purplish glow coming from his eyes that seemed to somehow infuse certain things in the glade, causing the sorrel blossoms and the white mushrooms and Roman's own jacket to glow in response.

“This is insane!” Logan wailed. “He can't possibly—”

And then two things happened at more-or-less the same moment.

The demon exploded...well, no, _exploded_ was the wrong word. It _blew away_ , like the ashes of burning paper in a stiff wind, but the wind seemed to come from within it, blowing outward in all directions. Either way, it dissipated, _hopefully_ destroyed but if not, then at least banished back to the Nether Realm of its origin.

And Virgil collapsed.

There was no dignity to it—he simply folded up, one second wobbling on his feet and the next sprawled on the moss, motionless. The other three let out shouts of horror and scrambled to his side. Patton, stiff with fatigue, fumbled in his pouch for his Heart's Eye while Logan checked Virgil's vital signs on the mundane level.

“How bad is it?” Roman asked.

“Bad,” Logan said flatly. Virgil's skin was so drained of color that it appeared almost gray, and his breath came in shallow, rattling gasps. Patton found the crystal he was looking for and peered through it at the fallen sorcerer.

“No...” he murmured, “...no, no, please! Virgil!”

“ _What?_ ” Roman begged.

“His aura...it's _gone_!”

“Mana-shock,” Logan nearly whispered. “He completely drained himself. He's dying.”

“No—he can't—we have to do something!” Roman protested. “A mana transfer can save him, can't it?”

“Transfer from where?” Patton said mournfully. “I'm all tapped out, and you and Logan aren't mages. All we can do now is try to keep him comfortable.” He shrugged off his sky-blue cloak and laid it over Virgil like a blanket.

“We still _have_ mana,” Roman pointed out. “We just don't know how to access it at will.”

“And therefore, we cannot offer it for transfer,” Logan said.

“Well, _I don't accept that!_ ” Roman barked, springing to his feet. “I'll—we—I...how much time does he have?”

Patton shrugged. “An hour, two hours at most. His power has already started feeding on his base life-force. Once that's gone...so is he.”

“Time enough,” Roman said. “I _will_ figure out how to access my mana and save him! I swear it!”

He strode away from the somber group, his mind racing. Gaining conscious access to one's mana wasn't exactly easy—otherwise everyone would be a mage—but it wasn't exactly hard either. What it was, was unique to each person, to the point of near-randomness—some people found their technique in desperate circumstances (such as _this_ , he thought glumly), while others stumbled across theirs while letting their minds wander. And every mage _described_ their mana differently. Patton compared his to the reservoir of water underneath a kitchen and himself to the pump, while Virgil ( _oh gods, Virgil_ ) had always said that using his was more like stepping backward into a shadow and letting it flow into and through him. Roman's sword instructor, Mr. Leo, said that for a battle-mage like himself, mana was just one more weapon in the arsenal, with its own associated fighting stances and moves, there to be taken out when needed and put away afterward.

A sudden thought struck Roman. He drew the Sovereign Sword and stared at it. Its light was subdued, without a nearby force of evil to contend with, but he could still feel its power humming, rattling him right down to the marrow of his bones. His eyes widened with realization.

He rushed back to the others, waving the Sword recklessly in his excitement. “I've got it! Sword! Mana!”

“Slow down,” said Logan.

Roman took a moment to get his words in order, giving him more than enough opportunity to take in the scene—as he had left it, more or less, except that Virgil's breaths had gotten weaker and his discoloration more pronounced. Even an hour was looking like a long shot.

“The Sovereign Sword uses the wielder's mana to trigger its powers,” Roman explained. “ _I_ can't tap my mana on purpose, but the Sword can! Can we use that somehow?”

Patton blinked. Then he blinked again, furrowing his brow. “Maybe I can...” he said in a voice that barely dared to hope. “Bring it here.”

Roman offered the Sword to Patton, but the healer only lightly grasped the blade, positioning his thumb on the edge so that it barely nicked the skin. He closed his eyes as a bead of blood welled up around the steel, and Roman recognized in his posture and breathing the signs of the slightest degree of meditative trance. After a moment, Roman felt a minute nudge at the core of his being, and Patton's eyes flew open again.

“Yes! I might be able to use it as a conduit! Oh! Quick! Roman, here, hold it so the tip rests just over his heart, like so! Logan, more trail mix please!”

Logan pulled a small muslin bag out of his pack and tossed it to Patton, who poured nuts and dried fruit from it directly into his mouth, hastily chewing and swallowing. Then he shifted position, taking hold of the Sovereign Sword again and wincing as the sharp edge settled back into the cut on his thumb.

“Okay, Roman,” he said. “This won't hurt. But your mana's not used to being tapped in this way and it might resist. If you feel a sudden urge to pull back, you need to...to not do it, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Logan? Please watch Roman for signs of exhaustion. It shouldn't take much of his mana to give Virgil a chance, but if it fights too hard, he could still be at risk, and I won't have the instinctive sense of when to stop like I would transferring my own mana. If Roman looks like he's in danger of passing out or anything, _make us stop_. I _won't_ risk anyone else.”

“Of course,” said Logan.

Patton paused, using his free hand to stroke Virgil's bangs away from his ashen face. “Hang in there just a bit longer, kiddo,” he said. “We've got a plan to save you after all.”

They began. Roman hadn't known what to expect, but he was startled anyway at the sensation of something _grabbing_ at his core, exactly where the nudge had been earlier. He started to flinch away from it, but stopped himself just in time. Still, it felt _weird_ , like ghostly fingers fidgeting around inside his soul and flicking away bits of it. The remaining portion throbbed in protest and tried to push the fingers away, and it took all of Roman's will power to overrule the urge. He felt a whimper escape his lips.

“Patton, this is hurting him,” came Logan's voice, distant and fuzzy, as if coming through layers of wool.

“No!” he gasped. “Keep going! I'm all right!”

“His mana is fighting harder than I expected,” Patton said wearily. His voice, oddly, was as clear as a bell. “I don't know if...”

“Keep going!” Roman said again, even though he was starting to feel light-headed. “We _can't fail_!”

And with that, it was as if a window opened up before him, and beyond the window was a table, and on the table was an ornate oil lamp, its flame burning bright and strong. A breeze, somehow visible, was flitting in and out of the window, plucking at the flame, which flickered evasively. Roman understood at once, and he reached through the window, scooped up half the flame, and handed it to the breeze, which fluttered off somewhere. The window slammed shut.

Roman opened his eyes just long enough to see Virgil suddenly draw in a deep, desperate breath. Then the trees of the glade closed in and everything faded to black.

* * *

Roman awoke, and there was a window. But this time it was his bedroom window, and the light coming through it was morning sunlight. He felt heavy and slow, and it took some more waking up for him to realize that it was because someone had left three or four extra blankets on top of him.

A tidal wave of memory engulfed him and he sat bolt upright, flinging the blankets away. His head spun but he ignored the sensation. “Virgil!”

“Roman?” came Patton's muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Was that you I heard?”

“Yes...?” Roman replied. “You can come in if you want.”

Patton opened the door and entered, carrying a tray of some kind of pastry. Roman's stomach growled, but the vertigo chose that moment to reassert itself and he dropped back onto the pillows. “How are you feeling?” Patton asked.

“Pretty wiped out,” Roman confessed. “But forget about me. What about—?”

“—Virgil?” Patton beamed. “He's going to be all right. We saved him— _you_ saved him. I don't know how, but you gave me more than enough mana to transfer without killing yourself. Now here—eat up, build back what you lost. I brought you some cheese-and-berry tarts. They're loaded with calories and nutrients, just like my trail mix.”

“Not sure I'm up to eating just yet,” Roman muttered. “If Virgil is all right...can I see him?”

“If you like,” said Patton, “but he won't have anything to say. He'll probably sleep for a couple more days yet.” Roman made a noncommittal grunt and Patton hastily continued, “Aw, don't look so crestfallen, kiddo! You accomplished something _amazing_ yesterday! How did you do it, anyway?”

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but found the memory of how he had accessed his mana flowing away from him. Something about a window and...a candle? “I...don't remember,” he admitted. “I guess I'm still not a mage.”

“Well, that's okay. Mage or not, you're the best swordfighter I've ever known. And you're also a _hero_. We still have our dear friend because you wouldn't give up even when it seemed hopeless, and because you put yourself at risk for him.”

“I thought you'd be mad at me about that, actually,” Roman said. “You didn't want me to take that risk; I remember that much.”

“Wellllllll...it all worked out for the best, so I can't be too upset,” said Patton. “I might feel differently later, but we can cross that bridge when we get there. Now eat up; get your strength back. I've got the kettle on and I'll bring you some tea as soon as it's ready.”

“Actually,” Roman said with a yawn, “I think I need some more rest first.”

“Suit yourself. I'll leave the tarts here for you; promise me you'll eat something when you wake up again?”

“Sure thing, Pat,” Roman said. His eyelids drooped.

He had drifted off again before Patton was fully out of the room, a flame burning resolutely in the darkness.


End file.
